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"I don't think we should, should we?" she asked, naively, after a moment, pulling away from him. "Stephanie!" "I think I'd better go, now, please." Love and War It was during the earlier phases of his connection with Chicago street-railways that Cowperwood, ardently interesting himself in Stephanie Platow, developed as serious a sex affair as any that had yet held him.
At this statement of Cowperwood's which seemed to throw her back on herself for ever and ever to be alone, she first pleaded willingness to compromise to share. She had not fought Stephanie Platow, she had not fought Florence Cochrane, nor Cecily Haguenin, nor Mrs. Hand, nor, indeed, anybody after Rita, and she would fight no more.
Gurney," said Cowperwood, complacently, after staring at Stephanie grimly and scorching her with his scorn, "I have no concern with you, and do not propose to do anything to disturb you or Miss Platow after a very few moments. I am not here without reason. This young woman has been steadily deceiving me. She has lied to me frequently, and pretended an innocence which I did not believe.
Her father, Isadore Platow, was a wealthy furrier of Chicago. He was a large, meaty, oily type of man a kind of ambling, gelatinous formula of the male, with the usual sound commercial instincts of the Jew, but with an errant philosophy which led him to believe first one thing and then another so long as neither interfered definitely with his business.
At the same time the thought of readjusting her relations so that they would avoid disloyalty to Cowperwood was never further from Stephanie's mind. Let no one quarrel with Stephanie Platow. She was an unstable chemical compound, artistic to her finger-tips, not understood or properly guarded by her family. Her interest in Cowperwood, his force and ability, was intense.
I don't need to be. It isn't worth it. Not at present, anyhow." His teeth set. He was underestimating Mr. Truman Leslie MacDonald, principally because he did not like him. He thought his father might return and oust him. It was one of the most vital mistakes he ever made in his life. The Coming of Stephanie Platow
"With eerie flute and rhythmic thrum Of muted strings and beaten drum." Stephanie Platow had sat silent, caught by a quality that was akin to her own. She asked to see it, and read it in silence. "I think it's charming," she said. Thereafter she hovered in the vicinity of Forbes Gurney. Why, she could scarcely say. It was not coquetry.
The panneling back of her was of dark oak, burnished by the rays of an afternoon winter sun. Stephanie Platow had dressed for this opportunity. Her full, rich, short black hair was caught by a childish band of blood-red ribbon, holding it low over her temples and ears.
"Let me alone. I'm tired of that." "You're really not fair to me, Aileen," with a great show of feeling and sincerity. "You're letting one affair that came between us blind your whole point of view. I give you my word I haven't been unfaithful to you with Stephanie Platow or any other woman. I may have flirted with them a little, but that is really nothing. Why not be sensible?
She said you gave them to her." "To be sure," answered Aileen, catching herself as by a hair. "I do recall it now. But it was Frank who really gave them. I hope she likes them." She smiled sweetly. "She thinks they're beautiful, and they do become her," continued Mrs. Platow, pleasantly, understanding it all, as she fancied.
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